Literary Safari

I’ve been keeping a morning journal on and off (mostly on) for the past twelve years. Inspired by Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way, where she invites readers to start their days off by handwriting three pages of stream of consciousness, I’ve found these morning pages an ideal and meditative way to clear the clutter out of my mind.

On a recent visit to the East West Books near Union Square, the universe sent me a not-so-subtle reminder to make time again for my morning pages. Upstairs in the café, hanging on the wall right next to the table where I sat down with my iced red bush tea, was a framed dress entirely made up of morning pages!

Created by artist Caterina Bertolotto, the dress “Morning Pages” is part of a series Dresses of Transformation. Of the dress, Bertolotto says:

I have been practicing “The Artist Way” for over two years, and it has helped me incredibly to get to know myself, what’s important for me, and to be more creative. I love the morning pages. Since I have been writing them, I can collect all the ideas that come to me and no longer forget them. When I want to make art, I have plenty of ideas.

I’m reminded of Cameron’s second reason for suggesting morning pages as a practice for all types of artists. They act as a repository for our creative ideas, perhaps even those that we would otherwise discount if we were to write them down in the light of day (versus in the moments just after we awake) when our inner critiques are most alive and kicking.

Speaking of the creative unconscious, I’m reminded of Carl Jung’s Red Book, which I’ve been meaning to get a copy of.

I’m a creature of habit and making lists is at the top of my “habit list.” My day does not go right unless I sit down in the morning and make a list of goals, things to do, and even, places to go. My father used to make lists too. After his death, I found yellow legal notepad after yellow legal notepad filled with numbered lists of his daily goals. I’m sure that if he were alive today for me to ask him what he liked best about his list-making (apart from the direction it gave him), he would answer, “Crossing out things!”

There’s also something lyrical about lists, the way one line flows into the other, creating a rhythm and space in which to find yourself. I suppose that’s what attracted me to the anthology of original children’s list poems, Falling Down the Page, edited by Georgia Heard (Roaring Brook Press, 2009).

Inspired by Walt Whitman’s classic list poem Song of Myself, this collection of original poems highlights a variety of styles, all of which are tied together by the common themes of school and the everyday experiences of the school year. Featured authors include Jane Yolen (“In My Desk”), Marilyn Singer (“In My Hand”), Eileen Spinelli (“Creativity”),  Bobbi Katz (“Things to Do If You are the Sun”), and one of my favorite poets, Naomi Shihab Nye (“Words in My Pillow”).  The poems span a range of moods — lighthearted, serious, thoughtful, funny, and whimsical. There’s something for every type of kid here.

Besides my fascination with lists, there was also something about the size of the book that I found extremely appealing. Laid out vertically at 5×10 inches, its topsy-turvy text, curvy font treatment of titles, and offbeat design are a visual invitation to readers to think differently — outside of the standard horizontal box of our minds — and to sit down and invent our own list poems.

I recently wrote a piece, “Summer School: Play with Words” for Kahani magazine (forthcoming in the Summer 2009 issue). Building upon my previous advice at A+ Advice for Parents, it offers ideas for wordplay exercises. I wish I’d come across Heard’s anthology earlier so that I could have also recommended it to readers. Oh well; better late than never. If you have school age children, why not sit down with them and write a list poem this summer? Or, you could do what I did after earlier today, after re-reading Falling Down the Page: sit down with your own pencil and sheet of paper and see what emerges.

Below the fold is my little list poem inspired by the cloudy skies we’ve had in NYC of late.

(more…)

I know that writing in my journal after a difficult, traumatic, painful, confusing, or frightening experience always makes me feel better. I emerge from my time of writing slightly more at ease with life’s uncertainties and though I’m not naive enough to think all is well, I do experience a certain sensation of feeling lighter, as if a bit of the load has been lifted.

Researchers have been studying the impact of writing on health for several decades.  James Pennebaker, from the department of psychology at the University of Texas, has written several journal articles and books showing how basic cognitive and linguistic processes during writing predict better health through longterm improvements in moods and even, healthier blood work. [Check out one of his papers here.] Part of his conclusion was that the ideal writing time was 15 minutes of so.

Now, a new study “Effects of (Very) Brief Writing on Health” from the Universiy of Missouri shows that a minimal amount of two minutes a day of writing can attain similar results.

Participants wrote about either a personal trauma, a positive life experience, or a control topic for 2 minutes each day for 2 days. Emotion word usage in the essays was examined and physical health complaints were measured 4–6 weeks after the last writing session. Trauma and positive experience essays
contained more emotional content than the control essays and such content was of a similar percentage to that demonstrated by past research. Both the trauma and the positive experience conditions reported fewer health complaints at follow-up than the control condition.

The study concluded that “it might be enough to take (literally) just a couple minutes to reflect on important life experiences to garner the health benefits of writing.”

Two minutes. It takes two minutes sometimes to check my email on my iPhone, to load a webpage, to wait for the elevator, to pay for a gallon of milk at the corner store, to cross a busy street … Next time I say that I don’t have time to write in my journal, I hope I’ll remember that!

This post comes your way courtesy of the good folks at VSL Science.

No, I’m not referring to Slumdog Millionaire’s sweep at the Oscars last night (though I will take this opportunity to say that I did have a feeling this would happen back in November when I wrote about it here)!

I’m referring to our six word Valentine contest of a few weeks ago.  Thanks to all of you who played and took the time to share your brief memoirs of real-life love. Reading them as they rolled in over Valentine’s Day weekend reminded me of the many hues and shades of love – from emotional to humorous – that exist and how this annual holiday is (thankfully) not all about roses and chocolates.

Food plays a big part in love of all kinds.

There was Jeff’s:

I picked up a happy meal.

And Ankur’s:

Eating baklava together, no gifts necessary.

Love is also about daily routines and the mundane, as in Bry’s:

Your incessant snores lull me to sleep.

And Maria’s:

Morning warm; you open your eyes.

Love is so much about optimism, as Prasant’s showed:

Hopeful. Heartend. I’m still here.

It is also a source of beautiful metaphors like the one in Debbie’s entry:

Buoyant, we rock, but stay afloat.

The winner of the six-word memoir of love contest, however, is the one which struck our guest judge Anita Jain the most. It came from Fuse # 8 who wrote:

His librarian movie? He married one.

These six words allowed Jain – who did not know any of the contestants or read their entries alongside their names – to imagine a larger context and story. In her judge’s comments, she wrote that she “saw it as a reference to a man’s fantasy of the sexy librarian — which in a way is ultimately about men’s view of women as either Madonnas or whores and in an ideal world, both at the same time. To me, it’s a comment on that and how as much as the world has changed, and women have gained equality in so many realms, this male perception of women is something we modern women still have to struggle against.”

Congratulations to Fuse # 8 for making a V-Day impression, and for telling a story that can be read in so many different ways. That, I suppose is one of the qualities of powerful storytelling. In fact, that is what, I think, makes these six-word memoirs such a little jewel of a genre. They provide a glimpse of the writer’s experience and then, allow the reader to imagine the rest.

Submit your six word love memoir here and enter to win a free copy of Six Word Memoirs of Love and Heartbreak, courtesy of SMITH magazine. Our guest judge will be Anita Jain, author of “Marrying Anita,” a memoir about her search for love in contemporary India which the New York Times calls ” a thoughtful, incisive exploration of the nature of connection.” Deadline: Midnight, February 16, 2009.

So, I’m not usually one to make a big hoopla about Valentine’s Day, but I’ll make an exception this year.

I opened my mail last week to find an envelope from HarperPerennial. Inside was my very own personal copy of a pocket-sized paperback (4X6, a little smaller in size than your average Valentine’s Day Card, but chock full of so many more wishes!) Six Word Memoirs of Love and Heartbreak: From Writers Famous and Obscure which features my very own six word memoir on page13:

Sleeping, our foreheads touch. Fates mingle.

This book is the second offering from SMITH Magazine whose initial invite to writers two years ago was a simple one (inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s “For Sale: baby shoes, never worn): Everyone has a story. Can you tell yours in six words? The submissions poured in like crazy and soon enough they had published theNYT bestselling Not Quite What I Was Planning.

In the introduction to Love and Heartbreak, the editors Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith write:

As we’ve sifted through piles of briefly encapsulated lives, we’ve seen themes emerge … By far the most common thread, however, is love. Passionate love, parental love, platonic love–it seemed to be the most universally life-changing factor for storytellers of every age, background and worldview.

This book celebrates life in all its shades of red–a valentine, if you will, to every kind of love. But it’s also a nod to love’s evil twin: heartache.

Indeed, many of the memoirs in Love and Heartbreak focus on the latter, but since Cupid’s Day is on the horizon, let’s flex our writing muscles by taking a whirl at penning a six-word memoir on love, whatever that may mean to you. Consider it your Valentine. Post it here in the comments section, then go to sixwordmemoirs.com and share it with the readers and editors of SMITH magazine. You never know. It may end up in a book someday. The “best” memoir submitted in the comments section will win a free copy of this book, courtesy of SMITH magazine.

I’ll leave you with this some of my favorite “Valentines” and a book trailer for inspiration.

We belly laugh every single day. – Michelle Ottey
My life’s accomplishments? Sanity and you. – Elisabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love)
Bachelor visits library, books wife (Nonfiction). – Michael Perry
It helps to label the books. – Juan Antonio del Rosario
Hired me. Fired me. Married me. – Julie Klam
True love is a nephew’s hug. – Alison Schulak-Moore (in honor of my nephew’s 2nd birthday today!)
Cynical New Yorker convinced of soulmate. – Kate Hamill
It’s just a matter of luck. – Ayelet Waldman

Oh, and if you happen to be in town on the 14th (I won’t), maybe you’ll want to check out this event: February 14, NYC, Housing Works Bookstore, 8pm. The Valentine’s Day Personal Media Mixer & Confessional Culture Variety Show : PostSecret, Found Magazine, Mortified, and Cassette From My Ex join with SMITH Magazine for a very special evening to benefit Housing Works. Buy tickets here.

OK, so what’s your six-word memoir of love? Deadline: Midnight, February 16, 2009.

This is part of my ongoing series, Flex Your Writing Muscles here and here.

Every year, either on New Year’s Eve, or New Year’s Day, I sit down to write my year in review. The exercise gives me a chance to contemplate the events of the past 12 months, to look at the passage of time—my time—from a big picture point of view. Today, I thought I’d try a different approach and write one using each of the 26 letters of our alphabet.

This particular exercise was inspired by my friend Eleanor of Creative Times whose annual holiday letter was hand-written and illustrated. I will (obviously) be doing a separate one that focuses on my personal, intimate, inner life, but this particular one is you could say, focused more on my “literary professional safari of 2008.”

If you have time today or this week or this month – I’m all about extending the New Year’s spirit for all of January—maybe you’ll want to give this a whirl and then, come back here and share your experience with us. Happy New Year! Bonne Annee! Saal Mubarak!

The A to Z’s of 2008

Allowed myself to make more time to read than I’ve done in a very long time! Here’s a list of some of the the books I most enjoyed reading (and writing about in 2008 at Literary Safari, Sepia Mutiny, Kahani, and Yoga + for Joyful Living) – Animal’s People, Child of Dandelions, Climbing the Stairs, Eat, Pray, Love, Evening is the Whole Day, Home of the Brave, In Defense of Food, India in Word and Image, Love Marriage, Marrying Anita, No Onions Nor Garlic, The Aunt Also Rises, The Lost Island of Tamarind, The Toss of a Lemon, Thoreau at Walden, Unaccustomed Earth, Yoga Calm for Children.

Bid farewell to Scholastic at the end of May, and started , Literary Safari Inc., my own editorial services company.

Commissioned original fiction for a middle school reading program at Scholastic, from authors including Walter Dean Myers, Paul Fleischman, Joseph Bruchac, Gary Soto, and Mitali Perkins.

Despite my initial reluctance, grew to appreciate social networking sites like Facebook which allowed me to connect with old friends and make new ones. Twitter is still in the “out zone” however.

Entered the wordy world of wordsmith Anu Garg and wasted way too much time with Wordle, Photofunia, VSL, morgueFile, and of course, Facebook.

Got a gig writing for the New York Times Learning Network and churned out lesson plans about Twitter , digital innovations in news delivery (aka Contents and its Discontents); American Consumerism and Black Friday; Google Earth’s Rome 3D; the 2008 election results, negative campaigning in presidential politics; multitasking; Paul Krugman’s Nobel Prize, and recent research on our “approximate number sense.”

Had little time to comment on one of my favorite blogs Sepia Mutiny, BUT was stoked to start writing for it in March. I’ve been off the grid lately, but hope to do more in the spring.

Interviewed authors including Indra Sinha, Padma Viswanathan, V.V. Ganeshananthan, Nadia Aguiar, Katia Saint-Novet Lot, Cynthia Kadohata, and An Na, and learned much from them about discipline, inspiration, and craft. Now, if only, I could discipline myself!

Judged the 4th annual Kahani Young Writers & Illustrators contest where the task was to write a story with the words peacock, fever, and mountain. (more…)

Take heart, those of you who feel guilty about not blogging enough or at too leisurely a pace. Per a recent NYT article titled “Blogging at Snail’s Pace,”  there’s a “small, quirky movement” out there called slow blogging:

… inspired by the slow food movement, which says that fast food is destroying local traditions and healthy eating habits. Slow food advocates, like the chef Alice Waters of Chez Panisse in Berkeley, Calif., believe that food should be local, organic and seasonal; slow bloggers believe that news-driven blogs like TechCrunch and Gawker are the equivalent of fast food restaurants — great for occasional consumption, but not enough to guarantee human sustenance over the longer haul.

It’s official. I am a slow blogger. The fact that it has taken me a whole week to sit down and even try to write about last week’s events in Mumbai is proof, if nothing else.

Like everyone else I know, I’ve been following the news about the Mumbai blasts last week constantly, keeping track of essays, listening to podcasts, and reading analyses [ [here» ... here» ... here» ... here» ... here»]. I’m repeatedly wowed by all the writers out there who have managed to convey their thoughts and emotions so eloquently both during and in the days since the events.

So far, I haven’t been able to do it.

I ran into a neighbor in the elevator earlier today. “I’ve been thinking about you,” Libby said. “I was wondering whether you have any family in Mumbai and I went onto your blog to see whether you had written anything about it.”

“No, I haven’t,” I replied. “It’s just taking me a while to absorb it all.” I felt embarrassed, like I was somewhat less of a writer for not having put pen to paper right away … or, at the very least, participated in the phenomenon of self-button publishing and citizen journalism via Twitter, Facebook, and the like.

Like so many of my friends, it’s becoming a habit to chirp about my state of mind and the goings-on in my life on Facebook. But, during this frightening, disturbing terrorist and hostage crisis, while the rest of the world has been busy talking, all I was  able to do was listen and take it all in.

My Facebook statuses during the Mumbai crisis:

November 26, 9:48 pm (not too long after the news broke): “Sandhya is watching NDTV live and so sad about the unfolding events in Mumbai.”

November 28, 11:04 am (the standoff continues): “Sandhya is still watching NDTV live.”

November 28, 11:15 am (the standoff continues as does my feeling of helplessness): “Sandhya just signed the awaaz.org’s call for unity.”

November 29, 9:34 am (the faceoff ends): “Sandhya is thankful and relieved.”

Changing my status so infrequently is unusual for me.

The thing is, though, I was overcome with the same kind of numbness that overcame me on 9/11 when I was glued to the news and every source of information I could lay my hands on. Back then, I wanted to know and understand what was happening, but I didn’t have the desire or werewithal to process the events for anyone else.

Back then, we didn’t have Facebook statuses to help us examine our state of mind. Now, all I have to do is look at my minimal Facebook status updates during the three day standoff between the terrorists and the Indian forces to see my mental paralysis reflected.

In this world of instant response, constant tweeting, and simultaneous analysis, I’ve only just started writing about last week’s events and *my* Bombay. I suppose I’m still getting used to the idea that all this has happened; still processing it; still asking “why?” And, I keep reading, taking in all the information out there, hoping to find a clue, a better understanding. Finally, there’s also a part of me that says: What else can I truly add to the ongoing conversation? All I have are my memories of my Bombay to add to the mix. Why do they matter?

But, today, I finally started writing and I realized that my memories of my Bombay matter because they will help me to finally start making sense of this mayhem, this puzzle, this sadness I’m feeling. They will help me to remember the bruised city on the Arabian Sea as it was when I first got to know it. They will help me to break through the numbness. …

All of this is a long-winded way of explaining why this blog has been quiet for the past several days. I didn’t feel right about writing about anything other than Mumbai—and I wasn’t ready to write about my Bombay just yet.

Slowly, at snail’s pace, I’m getting there. Stay tuned …

Irritating words. Clichés. Trite expressions. We hear them all the time and sometimes, we are also guilty of using them in our own writing and conversations.

Here, from Oxford University is a list of top 10 “most irritating phrases.” [see full story]

1 – At the end of the day
2 – Fairly unique
3 – I personally
4 – At this moment in time
5 – With all due respect
6 – Absolutely
7 – It’s a nightmare
8 – Shouldn’t of
9 – 24/7
10 – It’s not rocket science

And, here at Paper Cuts, the NYT literary blog is a list of the “seven deadly words of book reviewing”:

1 – poignant
2 – compelling
3 – intriguing
4 – eschew
5 – craft (used as a verb)
6 – muse (used as a verb)
7 – lyrical

And, so, off I go in search of a better substitute for “compelling” which is often a word that is part of my first draft reviews because I think it’s better than “fascinating” … which, somehow, just does not cut the mustard either!!

Your most irritating phrases?

The day before the election, I wrote a lesson plan for The New York Times Learning Network [And, the Winner Is: Holding a Post-Election Discussion or Mock Talk Show] on how to teach the election in the classroom. The culminating activity of this lesson was for students to write letters to the newly elected President. The morning after Barack Obama’s historic win, I sat down to do the same.  Here’s my letter.

Dear Mr. President-Elect Barack Obama,

Congratulations on your election to the highest office in the land. I am profoundly moved and heartened by the outcome of this election. Last night, outside my window in the Morningside Heights neighborhood of New York City, car horns were blaring, people were screaming and weeping with joy, crowds were chanting your name. On a night replete with the revelry reminiscent of New Year’s Eve—champagne, impromptu parades, Times Square crowds, and even, funky 2008 glasses—I fell asleep thinking: Hope has landed and it’s here to stay.

Though I was born in Ghana and raised in India, I have lived in the Unites States since I was 12. People say that this election is historic because you are the first African-American to be elected president. Yes, that’s true. What’s also true, however, is that your election is of great significance because it has made me feel—perhaps for the first time ever—that just as I call this country home, it too can call me family. Thanks to your vision and “audacity to hope” for change, today, people like me, immigrants, minorities, and people of color—brown, brown, black, yellow, red—we are all brimming with hope for our future in America.

The morning after, I feel like I have woken not just to a new day, but to a new period in history. I keep revisiting your victory speech.

After an election where a certain man named “Joe the Plumber” was touted as the face of America, you addressed and acknowledged our true face and the beauty of our diversity:

It’s the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Hispanic, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled. Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been just a collection of individuals or a collection of red states and blue states.

You broke the highest glass ceiling in this nation’s history—that of race—last night, and thankfully, you didn’t ignore that fact:

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office.

Yet, you reminded us that nothing is too impossible to be possible:

If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer. (more…)

This is part of an ongoing series that I recently started here, “Flex Your Writing Muscles,” (installment 1) where I take a writing prompt and work it, knead it, pound it … and see what emerges out of it.

In this case, my prompt was to begin with the words “When I was [insert age]” and to write about a memory of that age. I actually started this prompt a year ago, around Diwali, at my desk at work in between tasks. I’ve been playing with it for a while and finally made a small breakthrough today.

The Times of Diwali

Diwali in Bombay

When I was seven
We drove along Marine Drive
My face pressed
Against the grimy glass
Of the bumpy taxi
In my lap a gift-wrapped box
Of store bought jalebis
Sticky orange
Sugary sweet
Circles of delight
Topped with edible aluminum foil

(more…)

I’m going to be judging Kahani’s Fourth Annual Young Writers and Illustrators Contest this winter. It’s open to young writers between ages 6 and 11 and the deadline is Sunday, Nov. 23, 2008.

The rules are simple: the story must include the words fever, mountain, and peacock.

Monika Jain, editor of Kahani, the award-winning literary magazine for South Asian children, asked me for some tips for the young writers. Here are my three golden rules:

Cook Up a Rich Setting. When we tell a story, we often bring a scene to life with description. On a blank piece of paper, write down the three contest words. Make a list of all the descriptive words (adjectives, especially) that come to mind when you think of each of these things. What does it smell like? Taste like? Feel like? Remind you of? Sound like? This brainstorming exercise will give you rich language to weave into your story. For example, for cobra (a word from last year’s contest), words that come to mind are sneaky, poisonous, dangerous, hiding, hood.

Map Out Your Story. Every short story has a beginning, middle, and an end. Before you start writing, ask yourself: When and where does my story take place? Who are the main characters in my story? Are they kind, naughty, unhappy, young, old? What is the big problem that they have to face? What events happen along the way? How does the problem get solved? Use your answers as a map or guide when you are writing.

Don’t Think Too Much! Writing a story should be fun, and a great story is all about letting your imagination loose. If your peacock wants to live inside a house, let it. If your cobra wants to be magenta in color or wants to talk, why not? Start writing and see where your writing takes you. This is supposed to be fun!

An entry form and complete guidelines are available here. Do spread the word. Kids don’t have to be subscribers to enter the contest.

I’m re-reading Natalie Goldberg’s “Writing Down the Bones” and am going to start doing more freewrites, in addition to my morning journals. Along the way, I’ll share writing exercises and books that I especially felt strengthened my writing muscles.

In my writing group a few months ago, we did a timed writing exercise (10 minutes) that I really enjoyed: Write a story where each sentence begins with a subsequent letter of the alphabet. So, that means the first sentence starts with “A,” the second with “B,” and so on … I thought it would be impossible, but turned out that wee bit of the structure was tremendously freeing. Here’s the piece of flash fiction that I came up with. (I’ve since edited it a bit and added a few sentences so a couple of letters might be off, but you’ll get the gist of the exercise.)

“All I ever wanted was a house with a yard,” she said. “But your father bought me this monstrous mansion. Ceilings 12 feet high, eight bedrooms, and a forest in the back. Do you really think two people should be living like this? Every day is a trial–so much work, so much space, nobody here. Far, far away from everyone I know. Give me a break. Help me convince him to sell this place, no? If anyone can, it would have to be you.”

I listened to my mother pour her wishes out to me over the phone, jasmine tea in a cup next to me, a wet cloth on my forehead.

“Kumarasami Raghavan is not an easy man to talk to,” I said. “Lest you have forgotten, let me remind you of the time he bought you a Mercedes convertible just after you had given birth to me.” My lips curved into a smile as I imagined my mother, a first-time mom, trying to bundle me into a car seat in a breezy car, her sari flying.  Now here I was, a grown woman swallowing the words I didn’t have the courage to say: “Ma, he has to give you a big house to live in. There’s someone else in the chinnaveedu.” (Of course, Ma would understand what I meant right away if I used the words “small house.” The other woman.)

“Please don’t remind me of that impractical car,” Ma interrupted. “Quietly, in your own way, can’t you do something? Really, you don’t know the weight of your words, you, his only pet daughter.”

Silence streamed through the receiver. I was not going to say anything, I had sworn myself to secrecy.

“Tarini, are you there? Can you hear me?” Ma said. “Signal lost?”

True, I was his daughter. But only daughter? That was a lie. Until last year, I had believed this to be true, but I cannot pretend anymore. Vidya, my father’s other daughter, will not allow me to. Whenever I look in the mirror nowadays, I see her—my height, the same eyes—spread apart, the identical liking for evening ragas and oreo cookies.

“X marks the spot,” Dad used to say when he taught me how to play miniature golf the summer of my ninth birthday. Years later, Vidya sat next to me on an airplane and asked me to exchange seats with her. “That’s my seat,” she said, showing me her boarding card. “X marks the spot.”

Zebras do not have identical stripes. A mother zebra knows her child, a sister zebra recognizes her sibling, just as I knew then that Vidya was my little sister.

So … now, it’s your turn. Feel free to post your Alphabet Flash Fiction here or link back to it at your blog.